Caldwell
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My stories
The lyre of Orpheus
There was a summer, not long after Breathless came out, when I listened to it on repeat. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds — a song unlike most of theirs,...
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- 408 reads
Hear the children cryin'
Some mornings I wake from dreams that don’t announce themselves as dreams. They slip into the day like breath into fog. One in particular lingered...
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- 378 reads
Lausanne Epilogue
Some mornings I wake before the alarm. The dog lifts her head, watches me for a second, then exhales and settles back into herself. I sit there in...
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- 877 reads
Rue (following on from Funeral Games)
Now that the central figures were gone, the anger hollowed into silence. The performance had ended. No one was left to fight but ghosts. I found...
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- 333 reads
Funeral Games
The worst part about my father’s death wasn’t the death. It was the circus that formed around it — a slow-moving horror of corridors, signatures,...
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- 286 reads